HIP CHOPS: Roland Kirk

by Jon Kruth (June 2000)

NOTE: This is an excerpt from the biography Bright
Moments : The Life and Legacy of Rahsaan Roland Kirk, published by
Welcome Rain (2000).

"Who has the hippest chops in the world?"-Roland Kirk, "Hip Chops"

Throughout the sixties and early seventies Roland
was a ubiquitous presence on the New York jazz scene. He was great in jam
sessions but if he was ever challenged, or if anyone tried to mess with
him, he would rise to the occasion and forget it!" Dan Morgenstern said
with a chuckle. "One thing about him that made him like the old-timers
was his competitiveness. In that way he was a throwback to guys like Roy
Eldridge and Hot Lips Page who would excel in that kind of situation. Roland
always sounded terrific and vital with a certain directness that sightless
people often have. He was a hard act to follow. That's why musicians might
mutter about him being a circus act. Roland got to people. He would really
break it up."

"Rahsaan could play any style - classical,
straight ahead or swing. He played the finish off the saxophone. And the
way he played flute! He gave me the impetus to blend styles. Even if you
couldn't stand him, you had to respect Rahsaan," Grover Washington insisted.
"He came ready. He lived it every day - walkin' and talkin' it. Rahsaan
was passionate and full of life. He swung hard. When you got up on the
bandstand with him, it wasn't about a cutting session. He would always
share his knowledge and love of the music with you. He'd be hollering the
changes while he was playing, to make you more comfortable."

Not everyone who had the opportunity to jam
with Kirk felt the same way. Dave Liebman, whose distinctive tenor and
soprano sax was a key component in funk and fusion ensembles led by Miles
Davis and Chick Corea, found Kirk anything but "comfortable" to play with.
In his speedy staccato Brooklyn-ese Dave recalled a run-in with Rahsaan
that was more a harsh lesson than a bright moment.

"Bob Moses is a very old friend of mine and
was playing (drums) with Rahsaan," Liebman explained. "Moses helped me
get into the scene when I was 16 or 17 years old. He invited me down to
the Showboat, a famous jazz club in Philadelphia where they were playing.
This was in '64 or '65. I was a kid. I was just 18. Anyway, I ended up
on the bandstand and Rahsaan turns around and calls ''All The Things You
Are' First note is F#. 1-2-1-2-3-4!' Boom! Then he points at me. Forget
it! I fumbled something and crawled into a hole. I probably couldn't do
it now! The next tune was 'December Song.' It was something I sort of knew.
I played the melody and that was it. He was doing the gunfighter at the
OK Corral/cutting session stuff they did in those days. Now it's more like,
(in a laid back voice) 'Hey, What do you know?' But with Rahsaan it was
sink or swim. In a way he was making a point. If you don't know what you're
doing, don't get up here. So it was a lesson. In general his vibe could
be pretty nasty. He would harangue audiences but I had a certain amount
of respect for him. He was a fantastic musician capable of anything, but
his taste wasn't up my alley."

"It could have been a simple case of retribution
for all the years of neglect and negligence Rahsaan suffered," Joel Dorn
offered in response to Liebman's tale of humiliation "If there was a white
guy that everybody was talking about, Rahsaan would take care of him. What's
so hard to understand about that? Was it a waste of time and energy? Yeah,
but it's a natural result of every action calling for an equal and opposite
reaction."

"It was the time of black power and black pride,"
recalled Mark Davis. "When Rahsaan would hold that saxophone up after a
solo, he was really saying, 'Here I am! The Miracle of the Saxophone!'
He would frequently challenge anybody to come up on the stage and play
with him. Rahsaan really had it in for Herbie Mann and it was justified
in a way. His point was that only a white guy could make a living playing
the flute. Until Hubert Laws came along black musicians had to play all
the reeds and maybe once in a while they'd get a flute solo. If Rahsaan
was playing a festival with Herbie, he would dare him to come on stage
and play the flute with him. Of course he never did."

Many of Rahsaan's friends and fans believed
he was denied the recognition he deserved on the instrument. One night
at Lennie's on the Turnpike after Kirk played a stunning flute solo on
"My Cheri Amour," Lennie Sogoloff, the jovial proprietor quipped, "If Herbie
Mann tried that he'd sprain his tongue."

Les Scher first heard Roland Kirk live at the
Village Gate on a double bill with Herbie Mann. At the time, Mann had a
hit with "Comin' Home Baby" and was drawing big crowds. "His real name
is Herbert Solomon," Les pointed out. "Rahsaan used to say Herbie changed
his name because that's the only way he could prove he was a man! Rahsaan
was a much better flute player. He was a heavy- duty cat. He completely
blew Herbie Mann off the stage."

After the show Les claimed he was "shaking
and shaking." Just a lad of eighteen, Scher was "too afraid to approach
him" so he watched sheepishly from the doorway as Rahsaan put his instruments
away."

"Rahsaan, like Mohammad Ali had an accurate
perception of himself as being on top. He worked very hard to get there.
When he really arrived and knew what his position was, he always gave credit
to his predecessors and to other musicians of the time who were putting
a real, sincere effort into what they were doing. He always dug Yusef,
Pharoah and Trane," Mark Davis said.

Pianist Larry Willis remembered experiencing
Kirk for the first time at Count Basie's on 132nd Street and 7th Ave. in
Harlem: "He came on the bandstand and scared everybody to death," Willis
recalled with a laugh. "I saw other horn players putting their instruments
back in their cases!"

Although Rahsaan was branded "way-out" by the
mainstream, the avant-garde remained hesitant to embrace him as one of
their own. Bassist Burnie Loring claimed that even in his scuffling days
in the Midwest Kirk was capable of "playing the most modern and exotic
stuff you ever heard - as avant-garde as anything these days in Manhattan."

"Kirk doesn't fit into the avant-garde," Chris
Welch proclaimed in Melody Maker. "Yet he is truly one of the only free
players in jazz today." The term "free" became a yardstick by which musicians
like Ornette Coleman, Cecil Taylor and Anthony Braxton measured the spirit
and intensity of their creative output.

"The real Free/Avant-Garde cats loved him,"
Steve Turre claimed. "Pharoah, Archie, the Art Ensemble, all loved him.
When we worked in Chicago everybody came down to see him. They recognized
what he was doing but the press didn't because he played all the music.
Rahsaan didn't express only one sentiment of feeling."

While shopping at Tower Records in the Village
one August afternoon I bumped into the brilliant composer/multi-instrumentalist
Anthony Braxton. With his arms overflowing with books and discs he still
managed to poke through the Ornette Coleman section with a spare finger.

"Mr. Kirk was very inspirational and always
helpful to the young guys," Braxton said, bubbling with enthusiasim. "I
used to go see him in Chicago and he'd let me sit in on the last set of
the night. My first performance in New York was actually with him at the
Village Vanguard! We played 'Take The A Train'," he recalled fondly.

"We used to talk a lot about the avant-garde,
which he was quite capable of carrying out, but it wasn't part of his musical
ethic," Michael Cuscuna explained.

"That's what freedom's all aboutlearnin' somethin' then throwin' it away."- Roland Kirk

"A lot of the so-called 'free' musicians weren't
hip to Rahsaan because he could go further out than any of them and at
the same time he insisted you do your homework. For most of those cats
it wasn't by choice it was by chance," Steve Turre emphasized. "If you
couldn't play the changes he'd get on your case. He'd say, 'How come you
wigglin' your fingers when you haven't played the tune yet?'

"Rahsaan would always extend the opportunity
to younger musicians to sit in. Once in Detroit this guy sat in with a
bass clarinet. It was obvious this person liked Coltrane, but only the
outside stuff. We played 'Impressions' (the original recording featured
Eric Dolphy, the master of the bass clarinet) and immediately this young
person started honkin' and squeakin'. Rahsaan was cool. Afterwards he said,
'OK, We played what you wanna play. I know you like Coltrane, so let's
do 'Giant Steps' 1-2-3-4! and this guy completely folded. Then Rahsaan
gave him a tongue-lashing. He said, 'How can you be into John Coltrane's
music and you ain't learned 'Giant Steps'? You better go home and learn
it! I don't mind you goin' outside but it's gotta mean somethin'. Don't
go outside just 'cause you can't go nowhere else!"

In the liner notes to The Man Who Cried
Fire, a posthumous compilation of live recordings culled from the Keystone
Korner, Rahsaan spoke about his relationship with John Coltrane: "One thing
that has never been written about is the closeness of John Coltrane and
myself. We were very close. This was dismissed for what reason I don't
know. We used to get together and talk about reeds and music. One night
we were down in the Village listening to Freddie Hubbard and Max Roach
and John talked about how he felt up against the wall in his music because
a lot of musicians had told him what he was doing wasn't hip enough."

"Roland was always willing to listen to someone
he respected when they changed direction. He'd always give them the benefit
of the doubt. He called me when Coltrane's "Ascension" came out," Cuscuna
recalled. "He'd been listening to it all day and wasn't sure about it.
He was struggling with it because it was Coltrane and he loved and respected
him. Some of the other musicians just said it was bullshit! He would never
dismiss anything like that. Whereas they wouldn't put the effort into understanding
what someone else was trying to do."

Drummer Max Roach believed the music of the
'40's was the prime source of inspiration for Kirk and his peers: "John
Coltrane is an extension of the whole '40's thing and all of a sudden everybody's
that. McCoy Tyner, Rahsaan Roland Kirk, they are all extensions of the
'40's and the reason why they are who they are today is because of the
time they spent analyzing and feeding off the '40's."

Kirk loved and respected Coltrane dearly. He
openly praised the man as a true giant of his time. Inspired not only by
Coltrane's colossal tone and hip chops but by his spiritual philosophy,
Rahsaan paid tribute to Trane throughout his career as part of his mission
to promote and preserve black classical music.

Shocked by the news of Trane's sudden death
in July 1967, author Bill Cole, in need of solace, went to hear Roland
Kirk play the Both/And Club in San Francisco. Kirk dedicated a soulful
medley for his fallen friend that spurred Cole to declare it "was by far
the best thing I ever heard him play."

This new improvised piece soon became the centerpiece
to Roland's set. "A Tribute To John Coltrane" was recorded a year after
its conception at the Newport Jazz Festival in July 1968. As Kirk explained
in his introduction, the music was "a memorial and a short medley of tunes
that John Coltrane left here for us to learn." Beginning on tenor with
an introspective rendition of Billy Strayhorn's "Lush Life" Kirk switches
over to manzello, mimicking Coltrane's spiraling soprano on Mongo Santamaria's
classic "Afro-Blue." Finally Roland blasts off with a furious tenor solo
on Coltrane's own "Bessie's" Blues." Giving it every ounce he's got, Kirk
was supported by one of his sturdiest rhythm sections: Ron Burton on piano,
Vernon Martin's punchy bass and Jimmy Hopps on drums. On his frequent tours
of Europe Kirk often showcased his maniacal manzello with a soaring rendition
of Coltrane's modal masterpiece "My Favorite Things."

Back in 1964, while at Oberlin College, Todd
Barkan stopped by the Sheraton Motor Inn on Euclid Avenue in Cleveland
to see Roland Kirk play with the 3 Blind Mice. "They were outstanding,"
Barkan exclaimed. "But across the street at Leo's Casino was the John Coltrane
Sextet with Eric Dolphy and Wes Montgomery!" Underage at the time, Todd
had to don a humiliating pink plastic Hawaiian lei and sip soft drinks
at the bar, but that hardly phased him - he showed up for all six nights.

"One night Rahsaan sat in on the second set.
They played 'Impressions' for about two and a half-hours. Those long solos
just drove Elvin and McCoy nuts. At one point Elvin got up and left, went
somewhere to get high and then came back a half an hour later. You couldn't
hear the piano that well, or the bass. Those guys played hard and got frustrated.
They had blood on their hands. By the time Rahsaan sat in there was nobody
left in the place because by that point in his career, Coltrane was just
too heavy for most people. These guys would bring their dates thinking
they'd hear 'Chim Chim Cherie' or 'My Favorite Things.' Trane would come
out and play three notes at once on his horn and by the time the second
tune began the house was half-empty," Todd said with a chuckle. "It was
just too 'out' there. It was some of the greatest music ever made and there
were only twelve people there to hear it!"

Kirk knew all too well that the music's brightest
moments were sadly often witnessed by just a handful. Years before, he
himself heard Charlie Parker playing to a near empty house in Saint Louis.

On one unusually slow night at the Village
Vanguard in the early seventies Rahsaan told the small but devoted crowd;
"We really appreciate your kind attention. Sometimes crowds are very unruly,
especially when we just have chairs and tables. Chairs and tables and rats
and roaches. They can be really unruly," he joked. "They don't respond
at all!" But even when faced with "chairs and tables and rats and roaches"
Rahsaan always played like there was no tomorrow.

"I feel guilty when I play and don't give it
my all like Rahsaan did," Michael Max Flemming confessed. "I know it's
possible, I was there. I saw it. It was like a hydrogen bomb going off,
over and over again, night after night. He wasn't happy unless he made
the people scream after every song. Maybe it was because he couldn't see
the look on their faces. He had to hear them yell."

"To him there was an inner integrity to the
music," Mark Davis imparted. "Some guys were faking it. To them it was
no big deal. So what - they're faking it and making a little money. But
to Rahsaan, they were swiping at the core. He hated phonies. He used to
say if Diana Ross was walking on the other side of the street, he'd cross
over, just to hit her with his stick. How dare she represent Billie Holiday
in 'Lady Sings The Blues." She had no voice!"

"I had to go to the movies and paythe price to see Diana Rossmess up Lady DayDamn! That was a helluva price to payThat broad's so skinnyYou can put her in a violin case!Damn, what a terrible waste!

She was doin' alrightwhen she was singin' with The SupremesWhy'd she have to go and mess upmy Lady Day Dreams?"

- Rahsaan Roland Kirk, "Clickety Clack"

Rahsaan had zero tolerance for poseurs and wannabes.
He expected musicians to do their homework before getting on stage with
him. When sitting in at a jam session if you didn't know what you were
doing, it would be wise to listen and learn, especially when the likes
of Rahsaan Roland Kirk held court.

"I'd been playin' some flute and trumpet and
he said, 'You should come sit in with me,'" Bruce Massey remembered. "I
constantly saw people sit in with him but I never had the balls to do it
'cause you never knew what he's gonna call out. If he called out an Ellington
number and you don't know it, you're toast! I saw a guy come in with a
flute that didn't know a Sidney Bechet number. He said, 'What? You don't
know that? Well, what do you know?' The guy said, 'A Train.' Rahsaan said,
'What key do you need it in?' He just killed this kid. Afterward the kid
was just shakin'."

Cellist, composer and arranger Akua Dixon of
Quartette Indigo (and wife of Steve Turre) recalled a humorous/pathetic
scene that went down one night at the Vanguard; "This chick had begged
him to let her sit in. Rahsaan had a siren and when somebody played too
long, he'd go ahead and blow the whistle on them. She was up on the bandstand
and he blew the whistle but she just kept honkin' and squeakin'. Now there's
good 'outside' and there's 'honkin' and squeakin'. As far as Rahsaan was
concerned she was 'honkin' and squeakin'. He blew the whistle on her again
and she didn't get off the stage. She was really movin' all over the place.
She came next to him and he reached over and grabbed the mouthpiece right
off her sax! She started cryin' 'Oh Rahsaan! Please! Why'd you do that
to me?' He was amazing! He could hear things so well. He could tell right
where she was. It wasn't like he was fumbling. He just reached over for
that mouthpiece and grabbed it!"

"I remember goin' home mad after Sonny Stitt
spanked my butt. Ain't no talkin' about it after the man spank you. Just
say 'Later, I'll be back!' Rahsaan told his audience at the Jazz Workshop
in Boston in 1972.

"After he got to know me he would allow me
to come sit in. I asked him to play a blues so I could get through it and
he called the fastest blues in the key of D flat you ever heard!" Byard
Lancaster said with laugh.

"He would never put a guy down if he was tryin',"
Burnie Loring explained. "Rahsaan was never harsh to a weak player. He
made you play better! He was supportive of honest people. But if he thought
you were pretentious, he'd take you apart."

Bill McLarney recalled a night at the Jazz
Workshop when a friend of Kirk's begged him to invite his poet/girlfriend
up to the stage to read, while the band improvised behind her. "She got
up and did a really dumb poem about her cat. It was really out of place,
but the band tried to do something behind it. Some guy in the audience
starting insulting her with half-sexist, half-racist hippie-dip comments.
Rahsaan suddenly stopped the band and said, 'You can think whatever you
want to about this lady's poem. But she's doin' somethin'! What can you
do brother? You got an instrument? Bring it up here and play it! Can you
sing? Come on up here and sing. Can you tell a joke? Come on up and tell
one. Can you fight? Then come on up here and box with me!' He completely
shut the guy down in an instant," Bill said with a laugh. 'She's got more
courage than you got brother!' he said."

From Kirk's point of view, it made no difference
what you did, whether you were a plumber or a caligrapher, it was your
commitment to your work, your art and life that mattered most. Rahsaan's
manic drive and obsessive nature was simply too much for most people. His
habit of dominating the scene often drew accusations of grandstanding from
his fellow musicians. But unless provoked, Rahsaan was not in the routine
of deliberately shredding his peers. He never purposely went looking for
someone to burn. In reality Rahsaan had developed a greater musical vocabulary
and ability to express himself than most musicians could imagine. At times
he was certainly was guilty of being "over-enthusiastic."

One night at the Vanguard, Frank Foster watched
knowingly as Kirk pulled the rug out from under alto saxophonist Sonny
Red Kyner. "He was playing a gig with his group when Rahsaan walked in."
Foster said, unable to recall whether Sonny invited Kirk to sit in or if
Rahsaan muscled his way onto the bandstand. Either way, it wasn't long
before Kirk had the audience in the palm of his hand. "Naturally the crowd
went wild," Frank said. "Sonny Red bore it for a while but then became
angry because the crowd was goin' bonkers over Rahsaan. He packed up his
horn and left his own engagement. Sonny Red just walked out and Rahsaan
finished his gig!"

Cecilia Foster was also in the crowd that night
with her husband: "It was the last set of the evening when Rahsaan came
up and joined him," Cecilia recalled. "The people went wild. They were
so exited over him that Sonny Red packed up his bags and went home! It
was his gig! I said, 'Rahsaan, the man left - You ran him out of his gig!'
He said, 'I didn't run him out! He invited me up to play but since he's
gone, we might as well finish his gig, right?' I said, 'I don't believe
you!' He said, 'the people paid to come in, they gotta hear some music!'"

John Stubblefield remembered a bad scene opening
for Rahsaan when he used to blow sax with the Basic Black Band: "He wouldn't
let us back on stage!" Stubblefield grumbled. "He played for two and a
half-hours and the people were mesmerized. We were mad 'cause we couldn't
get back on to play. I don't know why I even bothered to wait around for
him to get off the bandstand. When he came in the dressing room we were
sitting there waiting, it was like he could see everybody or feel them.
How he knew I was in that dressing room, I don't know! He said, 'John,
How do you feel?' I said, 'I don't feel that well.' He could hear the anger
in my voice. I said, 'Rahsaan, with all due respect and sincerity, we were
under contract to play another set.' He just started laughin'. I said that
I didn't find it very funny. But he'd cut you up. I didn't know Rahsaan
was that competitive. I really don't think it stemmed from insecurity.
I talked with Mary Lou Williams the next day. I said, 'Rahsaan drove us
nuts! We had our fans there. [Harmonica legend] Sugar Blue played with
us that night. He was killin'!' Mary Lou said, 'That's been goin' on a
long time. Rahsaan has driven lots of people against the wall.'"